Page 23 of Red King
Marcel turns to them. “Please, ladies,” he says in a voice that carries. “Please listen to what Thorn has to say. I’m sure you have a hundred questions. If you listen, perhaps some of them will be answered. Perhaps some of your fears will be put to rest as well.”
“Doubtful!” one of the females shouts.
“We want to go home,” another yells.
“We don’t want to meet them.”
“Speak for yourself. They’re hot!” another one shouts from the back.
“I want to stay!” yet another yells.
“I want to go home,” a blonde at the front yells, her eyes bright with anger.
They all start talking at once. All shouting over one another.
“Please, ladies!” Marcel shouts over the din. “You can’t leave. You may as well face those facts head-on.”
The ladies quieten down.
“You’re here for three months, whether you like it or not,” Marcel goes on. “As Thorn mentioned, every care has been taken to ensure your comfort, and you will be compensated well for your time and efforts.”
“We don’t care! We’re not prostitutes. We don’t want your money!” one of the females shouts.
“Yeah! Let us go!”
That’s when I see her standing behind the Tributes. She’s in her nurse’s uniform. Her fiery red hair catches the sunlight. Her eyes are blazing as they narrow on mine. Her head is tilted up. Her jaw is tight. Her arms are folded tightly across her chest.
She looks angry and so fucking sexy that my balls pull tight in an instant.
8
Paisley
This whole demonstration is such a farce. Why didn’t that asshole king listen to me? Surely I made a valid point? I thought I did. I guess not.
Speak of the devil. There he is right now and in all his glory. I want to go over there and give him a piece of my mind. What are they doing? These women need a chance to settle in. To calm down. This whole thing needs to be tackled in stages. Not like this. Way to scare the living shit out of most of them.
This is already going horribly wrong. You only have to take one look at the majority of the Tributes to know that they are not ready for this.
My eyes are on Arctic, and his on mine.
I keep expecting him to look away, but he keeps his vivid blue stare firmly on me. Like he’s daring me to say something, to do something. What can little old me do? Nothing is what, and it pisses me off.
While we’re on a stand-off stare-down, I may as well take in his face. Holy shit, what a face it is. His jaw is so masculine it could be made from cut glass. If not for the situation, I might actually find him attractive,
Crap, Idofind him attractive.
The king.
A candidate.
An asshole.
Good! That makes him strictly off-limits to me. He’s dangerous and in more ways than one. Dangerous in the worst of ways.
His shoulders are broad, going to a tapered waist and massive thighs. His arms are massive, too. These shifters are all tall and built. Yet Arctic stands above most of them by at least half a head.
We’re not permitted to divulge to the Tributes that he’s the king, but you can see it from a mile away. At least, you can see that he is a man of importance. He oozes power and authority. Carries himself in a way that screams dominance but with restraint. I like it. I like that he isn’t going to use his position to win over Tributes. That he’s keeping it an even playing field. But this…them shifting on the same day the Tributes arrived is just plain stupid. It’s—
